


Down the Hatch!

by Maynara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Rubs, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maynara/pseuds/Maynara
Summary: In hindsight, Dean probably shouldn't have brought his brother along to the party.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 29





	Down the Hatch!

"Are you gonna hurl?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

Dean sighs. Reaching into the pocket of his worn jeans, he gets out their room key and quickly shoves it into the lock. Beside him, Sam sways drunkenly on his feet. Dean doesn't know what he'd been thinking, bringing his sixteen-year-old brother along to a party. If their dad ever finds out about this…

"M'stomach feels weird," Sam slurs, just as the door swings open with a squeak. Sam grimaces, clutches his belly and lets out an impressive belch.

Dean rolls his eyes. "That's what happens when you lose beer pong three times in a row," he explains, as he drags his wasted brother inside. Sam stumbles over his own feet and Dean struggles to keep him upright.

Sam burps again, wetter this time, and Dean quickly hauls him to the tiny bathroom. He's **not** going to clean up vomit tonight.

Lowering his brother to his knees right in front of the toilet, Dean quickly helps him out of his jacket and nudges him forward so his head is hanging over the bowl. With a grunt, he squeezes himself into the tight spot between the rusty sink and the bathtub. "Alright, do what you gotta do."

Sam moans and wraps an arm around his stomach. He belches sickly a few times, but nothing comes up. "Dean, I _can't_ ," he whines.

"What do you mean, you _can't_?" Dean grunts impatiently and rubs a hand over his own belly. Granted, he doesn't have what is probably an entire gallon of stale beer swimming in his stomach, but he's starting to regret the last couple of shots.

Sam looks at his brother with unfocused, glazed-over eyes. It's a pitiful sight and Dean feels a little bad for him. "M'stomach hurts…" Sam whimpers again.

"You gotta be kidding me," Dean huffs. Reaching up, he pulls himself to his knees with the aid of the sink. His head spins for a second and he has to swallow back a wave of nausea. The timing couldn't be worse.

Once he's sure he isn't going to throw up all over himself and his brother, Dean positions himself behind Sam. "Let's get this over with," he sighs and loops an arm around his brother's waist.

"What're you doin'?" Sam slurs.

"Saving you from choking on your vomit in your sleep," Dean replies dryly.

His hand finds his brother's belly and he purses his lips when he feels how bloated it is. This should be fairly easy.

Dean pushes down, **hard** , and the result is instantaneous. Sam lurches forward with a choked gasp and vomits warm beer into the toilet. As if the floodgates were opened, he keeps heaving and gagging for a solid ten minutes. By the time he's done, Dean's stomach is churning just as badly.

Swallowing against the rising bile in the back of his throat, Dean quickly flushes the mess down the drain and cleans his brother up.

When there's no more vomit dripping from his chin, he hauls him back to his feet. "Alright, sleepy time," he grunts, as he lugs his brother's deadweight to the bedroom. He dumps him on the closest bed and goes to get him a glass of water and an aspirin.

After forcing both down Sam's throat, Dean takes off his brother's shoes, rolls him on his side and places a trashcan beside his head.

Once Sam is taken care of, Dean exhales wearily and drags himself back to the bathroom. The smell of puke is almost overwhelming in the tiny room and his stomach gurgles uneasily.

Without breathing too much through his nose, Dean washes his hands, brushes his teeth and strips out of his clothes. He's a few feet from his bed when an immense wave of nausea crashes over him. His belly lurches with a loud gurgle and he claps a hand over his mouth. On shaky legs, he staggers back to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, he doesn't make it further than the sink before cheap whiskey and nachos pour out of him. Hunched over the sink, he empties his stomach with loud, painful retches.

"Dean…?" a sleepy voice mumbles behind him and he cringes.

"Go back to bed, Sam," he croaks. Another wave of nausea hits and he vomits again. Clinging to the sink, he tries to keep his trembling knees from buckling.

A warm hand settles on his lower back. "You're okay. Jus’ get it out," Sam murmurs. He keeps muttering drunken words of encouragement while Dean throws up everything in his stomach.

When he finally feels like there's nothing left to get out, Dean straightens up. His belly protests and he rubs at it with a grimace. "I'm never going to mix whiskey and beer again…"

Sam winces in sympathy.

Dean swishes some mouthwash around in his mouth and then shepherds his brother back to bed. He forces him to lie on his side again and is about to climb into his own bed, when Sam grabs his wrist. "Stay with me?" he asks.

Dean wants to say no. They'd both be more comfortable in their own beds. However, Sam is still incredibly drunk and having him within arm's reach sounds like the safer option.

"Fine," Dean sighs and gets into bed next to his brother. Sam instantly cuddles up to him and tucks his head under Dean's chin. He hums happily.

A few minutes later, Sam shifts. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm never going to drink again."

Dean chuckles and ruffles his brother's shaggy hair. "We'll see about that, Sammy. Go to sleep now."

A few moments later, both Winchesters are asleep.


End file.
